“Yes. They be inside. Asleep now.” Liza hesitated. “I think I’d better talk to thee.”
“We be talkin’, baint we?”
She walked down the corridor gravely, to the main cabin. He followed her, and she closed the door.
At three bells Brock came on deck again. The fog had lessened but the wind had fallen off. He sniffed and tasted it and knew that soon the wind would freshen again and by morning the fog would vanish. “Gorth, let’s below and check the cargo.”
“None of those gallows-fornicating bait got below, Da’!”
“We be looking anyways. You come too, Nagrek.”
Brock picked up a lantern and they went to the hold.
“There! The door be still bolted,” Gorth said, his wound racking him.
Brock unlocked the door and they went inside. He set the lantern on the bullion and relocked the door.
“Have thee lost thy senses, Da’?” Gorth said.
Brock was looking at Nagrek.
“What’s amiss, Mr. Brock?” Nagrek was petrified.
“Seems that Nagrek’s been fingering thy sister, Gorth. Tess.”
“I didn’t—I didn’t, by God,” Nagrek burst out. “I didn’t at all!”
Brock picked up the cat-o’-nine-tails that hung on the wall of the hold. “Seems he went to her cabin while she sleeped and then woked her and played with her.”
“I didn’t touch her. I didn’t harm her. I didn’t by God,” Nacrek cried. “She askt me into her cabin. She askt me. This afternoon she askt me. She did, by God.”
“So you was in her cabin!”
Gorth lunged for Nagrek and cursed with pain as the pitch of the wound in his side parted. Nagrek fled for the door, but Brock shoved him back.
“Yo’re a dead man, Nagrek!”
“I didn’t harm her I swear to God I swear to—”
“You put yor stinking hands under her shift!”
The cat clawed Nagrek again and again as Brock drove him deeper into the hold. “You did, by God, didn’t you?”
“I swear to God I didn’t touch her. Doan, Mr. Brock. Please. It were no harm done—I’m sorry—I only touched her—there were nothing more—nothing more.”
Brock stopped, his breathing spasmodic. “So it were true. You heared, Gorth?” Both men sprang at Nagrek, but Brock was faster and his fist smashed Nagrek unconscious. He pushed Gorth away. “Wait!”
“But, Da’—that scum . . . ”
“Wait! Yor ma said the poor lass were afeared to say anything at first. Tess be thinking because he touched her there now she be going to have child. But Liza sayed Tess still be virgin. He only touched her, praise be to God!”
When Brock had caught his breath, he stripped Nagrek and waited until he was conscious. Then he cut away his manhood. And beat him to death.
“You wanted to see me, Father?” Culum’s face was stark.
Struan was standing on top of the knoll, the binoculars around his neck, knife in his belt, a bunched fighting iron on the ground. He had watched Culum come ashore and walk into the valley and climb the knoll. The wind had broomed the sky clean and the sun on the horizon brought the promise of a fine day.
Struan gestured below. “The view’s good from here, eh?”
Culum said nothing. His knees were jelly under the flame of his father’s eyes.
“Do you na agree?”
“The church will—everyone will be—”
“I know all about the church,” Struan interrupted. “Did you hear about Brock?” The voice was too soft, too calm.
“What about him?”
“He was pirated in the night. Pirates cut his cable and he drifted ashore. Then they boarded him. Did you na hear the shooting?”
“Yes.” Culum was oppressed and spent. Sleepless nights, and then realizing that he alone could save them, then deciding and tricking Longstaff. “But I didn’t know it was that.”
“Aye. Pirated in Hong Kong harbor. Soon as the fog had cleared I went alongside. Brock said he’d lost seven men and the captain.”
“Gorth?”
“Nay. Nagrek Thumb. Poor man died of his wounds. Gorth was cut but not badly.” Struan’s face seemed to harden. “The captain died defending his ship. That’s the way to die.”
Culum bit his lip and looked around the knoll, his heart pounding. “You mean that this is my Calvary?”
“I dinna follow you.”
“Captains dying defending their ships? This is my ship—this knoll—isn’t that what you mean? Are you asking me if I want to die defending this?”
“Do you?”
“I’m not afraid of you.” The words rasped out of Culum’s parched throat. “There are laws against murder. I can’t fight you, and you can kill me, but you’ll hang for it. I’m unarmed.”
“You think I’d kill you?”
“If I got in your way, yes, and I have got in your way, haven’t I?”
“Have you?”
“You used to be God to me. But in the thirty days I’ve been here I’ve come to know you for what you are. Killer. Murderer. Pirate. Opium smuggler. Adulterer. You buy and sell people. You’ve sired bastards and you’re proud of them and your name stinks in the nostrils of decent people.”
“What decent people?”
“You wanted to see me. I’m here. Tell me what you want and let’s have done with it. I’m tired of playing mouse to your cat.”
Struan picked up his haversack and set it on one shoulder. “Come on.”
“Why?”
“I want you in private.”
“We’re alone now.”
Struan motioned with his head at the ships at anchor. “There’re eyes there. I can feel them watching us.” He pointed at the foreshore dotted with Chinese and Europeans. Traders were pacing out their lots. Children were already at play. “We’re being watched everywhere.” He pointed to a hilltop in the west. “That’s where we’re going.”
The hill was almost a mountain. It rose to thirteen hundred feet, rocky and sparse and brooding.
“No.”
“It is too far for you?” Struan saw the hatred in Culum’s face and waited for an answer. There was none. “I thought you were na afraid.”
He turned away and walked down the knoll and onto the rising shoulder of the mountain. Culum hesitated, fear consuming him. Then he began to follow, dominated by Struan’s will.
As Struan climbed, he knew that he was playing another dangerous game. He did not stop or look back until he had gained the crest of the mountain. It was windswept and gaunt. He looked back and saw Culum struggling far below.
He turned his back on his son.
The panorama was vast. Awesomely beautiful. The sun high in the blue sky and the Pacific sea a blue-green carpet. Brown-green mountains of the islands were jutting from the sea carpet, Pokliu Chau to the southwest; Lan Tao, the huge island, bigger than Hong Kong, fifteen miles westward; and the hundreds of small, barren islands and bleak rocks that surrounded the Hong Kong archipelago. The ships in harbor were clear in his binoculars, and north was mainland China. He could see fleets of junks and sampans tacking up the Lan Tai channel heading for Hong Kong’s western approaches. More were sailing back into the Pearl River estuary. North and south and east and west there was sea traffic: frigates on patrol, fishing junks, sampans, but no merchantmen. Well, he thought, a few weeks and the end of the second war and then the merchantmen will dominate the sea.
Culum was fighting his way up the track made by Struan. He was almost exhausted and only his dogged will kept his feet moving. His clothes were torn and his face scratched from the clawing weeds. But still he climbed.
At length he came to the crest, his chest heaving, the wind tugging at him.
Struan was sitting on the ground a few feet below in the lee of the wind. A tablecloth was spread and there was food and a bottle of wine.
“Here, lad,” Struan said, and offered a half glass of wine.
Still panting, Culum took the wine and tried to drink but most of it dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off and gulped for air.
“Sit down,” Struan said.
To Culum’s astonishment, Struan was smiling benignly.
“Come on, laddie. Sit down. Please sit down.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“The view’s better from here, isn’t it?”
“One moment you’re the Devil,” Culum said, his lungs burning from the exertion, “and now—now—I just don’t understand . . .”
“I brought chicken and bread,” Struan said. “And another bottle of wine. Does that suit you?”
Culum sank down, spent. “Chicken?”
“Well, you did na have breakfast, did you? You must be starving.”
“About the knoll. I—”
“Catch your breath, rest, then eat. Please. You’ll na have slept these two nights. It’s nae good to talk on an empty stomach. Eat sparingly, or you’ll be sick. It was a strong climb up here. I’m tired mysel’.”
Culum lay back against a rock and closed his eyes and gathered his strength, his body crying out for rest. He forced his eyes open, expecting this to be a dream. But there was his father, studying the south sea through binoculars.
“About the knoll. I was—”
“Eat,” Struan interrupted, and offered him some chicken.
Culum took a drumstick. “I can’t eat. Not before I’ve said it. I had to do it.
I had to.
You’d never have agreed and it was the only way. Brock would have destroyed you. He would have stopped bidding. I know he would. If he didn’t hate you so much and you him, then you’d have the knoll.
You
forced the issue. You did. It’s your fault. The knoll’s the Church’s and that’s right. You forced it.”
“Aye,” Struan said. “Of course. I’m very proud of you. It took great courage. Robb would never have done it, or even if he’d thought of it he’d never have been able to carry it through.”
Culum was dumfounded. “You—you wanted me to do that?”
“Of course, laddie. It was the only solution to an impossible situation.”
“You—you planned me to do that?”
“I’d gambled that you’d do it, aye. I hinted that you should do it. When you were so nervous about seeing Longstaff—and when you avoided me at Happy Valley—I thought you’d arranged it. Then I was put off by your reaction to Gordon. But Longstaff later said, ‘Your
other
gesture, marvelous!’ and then I knew you’d worked out the only possible solution. I’m very proud of you, lad. Brock would certainly have slaughtered us. I could do nothing to prevent it. The knoll was a matter of face.”
“You—you pushed me—pushed me for two days and two nights into hell—knowing there was a simple answer?”
“Was it so simple?”
“For you it was!” Culum shouted. He jumped to his feet.
“Aye,” Struan said, suddenly harsh. “For me. But na for you. But you made the decision and you’re better for it. Now you’re a man. If I’d suggested the ‘House of God’ to you, you’d na have been able to carry it through. Never. You’d’ve given yoursel’ awa’. You had to believe in what you were doing. If Brock had thought for an instant that I planned it with you, he’d’ve made us the laughingstock of Asia. We’d’ve lost face forever.”
“You’d sacrifice me for face?” Culum screamed. “Your godrotting face?”
“Ours, Culum,” Struan said. “And it’s good to hear you swear at long last. It improves you, lad!”
“Then all the anger, your anger—it was pretense?”
“Of course, lad,” Struan said. “That was for the benefit of Brock. And the others.”
“Even Robb?”
“Robb more than any. Eat some food.”
“The pox on food! You’re the Devil! You’ll pull us all into hell with you. By the Lord God, I swear I’ll—”
Struan bounded up and grabbed Culum by the shoulders. “Before you say something you may regret, you’ll listen. I gambled you had the guts to decide, and you did. By yoursel’. Wi’out help from me. And I blessed you. Now you’re Culum Struan, the man that dared to cross the Tai-Pan. The man that took his cherished knoll away. You’re unique. You’ve gained more face in one day than you could acquire in twenty years. How in God’s name do you think you control men and lead them by the nose? By the strength of your arm only? No. But by your brain. And by magic.” He let go of Culum.
“Magic?” Culum choked out. “But that’s black magic!”
Laughing softly, Struan sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. “Those with brains will see how wise you are. ‘That Culum’s clever. He gives the knoll to the Church. And thus stops that devil Struan from destroying The Noble House by placing their wealth on a worthless knoll. But Culum’s saved the Tai-Pan’s face at the same time— that devil canna kill Culum Struan for giving the land to the Church.’ ” Struan sipped the wine. “Even Brock’s got to be impressed, whether he thinks it’s a secret deal or na—because you carried it off. The religious will bless you for giving the ‘best’ to the Church. The fools like Longstaff will fear you and ask your counsel. The cynics will be awed by the smartness of your solution and loathe you and say, ‘Culum’s got the devil of his father in him. Best watch out.’ I’d say you’ve gained stature, lad.”
“But—but if I’ve—then you, you’ve lost face?”
“Aye. But I’ve enough and to spare. For you and for Robb. And na much time to cement you into place. You watch, laddie. They’ll all be thinking, ‘Culum got away with it once, but will he try it again?’ And they’ll hope we’ll hate each other so much that we’ll destroy each other. And that’s exactly what we’re going to try to do. Openly. In public.”
“What?”
“Certainly. Cold hostility whenever we meet. And before long, Brock’ll try to seduce you to his side. Cooper will—and Tillman. They’ll feed you lies—or twisted truths—hoping you’ll become so full of hatred that you’ll ruin me and yoursel’ in the bargain. And The Noble House. For all the traders want that prize. But now, now they’ll never get it. You’ve proved yoursel’, by God.”
“I’ll have nothing to do with this,” Culum said quietly.
“You’ll have everything to do with it. For five months and five years. You made a holy oath.”
“You’d hold me to that? Now?”
“You’ll hold yoursel’ to it. Your salary’s trebled.”
“You think money’s important in a thing like this?”
“It’s small payment for two days of hell.”
“I don’t want any money. And I won’t do it. I can’t.”
Struan selected a drumstick reflectively. “I considered you very carefully. I was tempted na to tell you at all. To let you act a role unknowingly. But then I weighed you. I decided you could do it, knowing. It’ll be more enjoyable for both of us now that you know.”